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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23700589">Dennis Reynolds: An Erotic Life</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pussyhands/pseuds/Pussyhands'>Pussyhands</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dumb Kids [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anorexia, BPD, Bisexual Dennis Reynolds, Character Study, Dennis Reynolds is a Bastard Man, Dennis chugged dick in college, Descriptions of Rape/Non-Con, Episode: s03e13 The Gang Gets Whacked (Part 2), M/M, Pre-Canon, Prostitution, adventures in BPD, but also a very sad man</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:48:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,212</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23700589</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pussyhands/pseuds/Pussyhands</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Feelings. </p><p>You remember feelings. </p><p>Feelings are easy. You’ve just got to know how to archive them. There are two categories. One is pride and superiority (is superiority a feeling? Or is it a state he naturally inhabits?). The other one is rage. Once you realize all feelings can be categorized as one or the other, you realize that feelings are easy. Nothing to be afraid of. Water off a duck’s back.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dumb Kids [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689493</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dennis Reynolds: An Erotic Life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is set during and after The Gang gets Whacked (E13S03).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dennis is moving mechanically, back and forth, on top of the third different woman this week. It’s Tuesday. He tries not to look down. This is all done automatically, his body’s just a puppet, and he’s the puppeteer, moving the strings, emitting the right series of sounds and cadences, at the right times. He feels himself rise up to the roof, and he’s watching himself from above now, going about this disgusting business. It’s not even a particularly interesting thing to watch. </p><p>This is easy to do, going into autopilot, and Dennis learnt to do it a long time ago. Or has he always known? Was it ever any different? Dennis doesn’t know, but it doesn’t matter. It’s a good skill to master, really. It lets you do things other people would find dangerous, disturbing, or wrong, without even breaking a sweat. It prevents you from catching feelings. </p><p>Feelings. </p><p>You remember feelings. </p><p>Feelings are easy. You’ve just got to know how to archive them. There are two categories. One is pride and superiority (is superiority a feeling? Or is it a state he naturally inhabits?). The other one is rage. Once you realize all feelings can be categorized as one or the other, you realize that feelings are easy. Nothing to be afraid of. Water off a duck’s back. </p><p>Dennis has been doing it forever. It’s efficient, it’s downright genius. (Pride)</p><p>The worst moments, the things he never wants to think about again, have all broken out of this system. They haven’t  BROKEN the system, mind you. They just need a nudge, to readily fall into their assigned boxes. So Dennis needs to reign them in, and until he hasn’t, these things fester, shoved deep into the  recesses of his god-hole, so they can enlarge it, until it feels like Dennis himself is the hole, only a thin layer of skin encasing the vast, all encompassing nothing that is him. </p><p> But I digress. What was I talking about? I was talking about how Dennis Reynolds is so desirable, women pay for the pleasure of his company. And good money. That, right there, is pride. Easily categorized. </p><p>Sure, these women are disgusting beasts. But they’re rich disgusting beasts. They could have anyone they want, and they want Dennis. He takes another swig of vodka. No beer, wouldn’t want to bloat. Just a little vodka to grease the wheels, and he’ll be off on his next sexy adventure. The money’s on the dresser. </p><p>...... </p><p>Ok, so lets go. </p><p>The mess with the coke, the money, and the gang’s general incompetence: that’s rage right there. How is it they can’t even deal drugs correctly? What the fuck are they even good for then? </p><p>Frank pimping him out: it’s maybe a little disgusting, specially since they got rid of the rules, but it’s squarely in the pride box. Of course he’d be the one to fill this role, he’s so much better looking than Charlie and Dee, it’s like they’re not even the same species. Mac is a little better in that respect, but Frank is right, he’s too low class, he’ll never fit in in the environments Dennis was made to thrive in. High society, la creme de la creme. </p><p>You see, this life that Dennis is leading now, this is just a detour. Dennis is eventually going to take his natural place at the top of the social hierarchy. It’s only natural for him to do so. He’s just biding his time, in this ratty bar, because it amuses him. He’s accumulating life experience, so when the time comes, and he’s reminiscing with the captains of industry and the old money families at the country club, he can regale them with tales from the time he was slumming it. “Dennis Reynolds isn’t just a wealthy, sophisticated and incredibly sensual and attractive business man, he’s lived a very interesting life, he’s made it in the streets of South Philly”. </p><p>All of this will happen, in due time. Does Dennis have a plan to achieve it? No. Do caterpillars need a plan to transform into butterflies? Of course not. They just become butterflies because that’s the natural order of things. Just as Dennis will one day fall into his predestined role in society. </p><p>Why? Because Dennis has class. He’s proud of his upbringing. Proud that he grew up in a 9,000 square foot mansion, surrounded by nannies and servants. Proud that his mother realized his worth from the start. The way she was always fussing over him. Like she didn’t allow him friends, because she knew they were bellow him. Like she made sure he watched his diet, teaching him to count calories as soon as he learnt to count. She taught him to assert his dominance over lesser people. Even his sister Dee, because mother realized, right away, that Dennis was so much better, in a whole different category. That’s why she would crawl into his bed in the middle of the night, that familiar mother smell Dennis would recognize latter as alcohol, and confide in him. That she was loosing her youthful looks, and her plans to get them back, involving lots of surgery and expensive creams. That Frank was a lying, cheating bastard, and all the cheating she was doing in return, to get back at that goblin of a man I call your father. And above all, that Dennis was a golden boy. He was the cleverest, prettiest, specialest boy that had ever lived. He was destined for greatness, so Dennis didn’t mind dozing off in class with his head on the desk the next day, because he knew he was special, and his mother knew he was special, and he was going to prove it to the whole world. Just watch him. </p><p>......</p><p>Dennis is proud that his erotic journey started early. How could it not? Looking like that, the way he carried himself, it was bound to happen. An older woman taking interest in him, guiding him in the ways of the flesh. Dennis hadn’t understood at first, following the librarian to one of the back rooms, so she could show him a book she thought would interest a boy such as himself. Oh to be so innocent again, Dennis hadn’t understood what was happening, even when she took her top off. Even when she started unbuckling his belt. Dennis still didn’t understand what was about to happen. She taught him soon enough. She shaped him, molded him, into the finely tuned sex machine Dennis is today.</p><p>It wasn’t all smooth sailing though. </p><p>Rage: Maureen Ponderosa squirming bellow him. “Dennis stop it! Dennis stop! Please!” Women in movies are always protesting. The slap after the kiss, the kicking legs after they’re thrown over some man’s shoulder, just flailing around in the air. Women love men who know what they want and take it. It’s the thrill of the chase, the hunter and the prey. But Maureen is crying, panties still hanging from one leg, head in her hands. Like she’s embarrassed to look at him. Like she doesn’t understand. Like little Dennis Reynolds in eighth grade, with his pants around his ankles on the library floor. How can she not understand?! Has she not seen the same movies as him? Did she not know what was going to happen? What was bound to happen? </p><p>Maureen avoiding him in the hallway. Maureen casting her head down when he tries to catch her eye. And I thought I loved her. I was so innocent, so trusting, and she was just another stupid bitch. Unable to see my worth, my obvious superiority. And who the fuck cares about this school and it’s idiotic children anyways. Is Dennis popular? Of course he’s popular! He’s the king of this dump. Fuck this whole place and all the people in it.</p><p>And of course he was going to get into an Ivy League school. That was never even a question. Something else to be proud of.</p><p>And yet, college is a sad blur (no, not sad) Wandering around it’s endless corridors, a cup of coffee in his hand, filled with vodka and tonic. The only calories Dennis will ingest today. Going through the rituals, barely inside his own body as he hazes another freshman. The deafening laughter, the grating yells. It’s all part of the necessary experience. There’s no one to take care of him here. Does Dennis need to be taken care of? Ridiculous. Dennis doesn’t need anyone. Never has. Never will. Dennis laying on his bed. He can see all of his veins through his hand. He doesn’t know what day it is. Is it Sunday? Last night he went to a bar and sucked somebody’s (a couple of somebodies?) dick in the bathroom. Maybe that wasn’t last night? How would he have been able to get up and go somewhere last night, when right now he feels so weak he wonders if he’s dying. Did he get his makeup right? God it would be so embarrassing if he was caught sucking dick with spotty makeup. </p><p>Knocking on the door. Mac barging in. His smile slowly fading. “Oh my god dude! What happened?” Nothing happened, Dennis is in perfect control of his body and mind. Bile rising in his throat. How can Mac be so stupid? Fretting over him like a mother hen. And the worst part? The worst part is, in the distorted state of mind he’s in, Dennis is glad. He’s glad for Mac’s presence. Glad to see his stupid combat boots, his stupid t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, his stupid permastubble on his stupid face, so open and trusting. Mac’s default reaction is anger (specially back then), and Dennis is even glad to see him go into caretaker mode instead. Getting him a glass of water, feeding him the chips he had in his backpack, making his bed on top of him, like his nanny used to do when he was sick, stroking his hair and humming to him until he falls asleep. Dennis recognizes now that his own reaction can be attributed to his momentary weakness (CAN Dennis get sick? It’s very rare, but it has happened). Mac has no business barging in like that, treating him as if he were a child. </p><p>And what IS Mac? Mac’s just a useful idiot, and half of the time he’s not even useful. What HAS Mac really done for him? Besides sell him sub par weed and the same pills he could have stolen from his mother (so why buy them from Mac? Move past it). What IS Dee, and Charlie, and Frank, and all of his frat brothers, and all of the idiot children at school, and all of the stupid, lying girls, all the disgusting old crones he has to fuck? Nothing. He would smite them all if he could. And he can. But he won’t. Not yet.</p><p>......</p><p>He counts the money. It’s all there. He gets in the car and hands it over to Frank. Why does he have to hand it over to Frank? Dennis never liked making his own decisions. It’s the illusion of power. His unspoken, unexamined, wish, to just hand over the reigns of his life. To whom? To whoever will take them. He’s not proud of this, this is secret. Like a small bird that lives in his chest and sings to him only when everyone has gone to bed. Freedom from responsibility. Freedom from choice. Just let the waves wash over you, let life just happen. Free from pain and sorrow.</p><p>But does Dennis feel pain and sorrow? </p><p>No. </p><p>Only two emotions. Righteous rage and pride.</p><p>......</p><p>Dennis in front of the mirror, inspecting every inch of his body. Weight? Perfect. Muscle tone? Outstanding. Skin tone? Well he could stand to get a little tanner. Specially with all these bruises marring his perfect appearance. Why are the bruises? Dennis tries to think. Long fingernails pressing against his flesh. Surprisingly strong hands grabbing and pinching and slapping. Laying on the library floor (no wait, scratch that). A million horny old ladies waiting to tear him apart. Ok, sure, that’s why the bruises. Dennis inspects his perfect face. The sharp angles, the plump lips, the high cheekbones, the strong jaw, the beautiful eyes. He’s so handsome he could cry. </p><p>It’s hard to improve on perfection, but, still, he tries. Primer, concealer, base, contour, highlighter. Eyeshadow, mascara, lipgloss, and done. Designer boxers, jeans taken in (gotta show off the goods), understated blue shirt, to bring out his eyes. Soft brown curls, in perfect order, with just the right amount of product. </p><p>Dennis is proud of his appearance. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s in perfect physical condition, more god than man. He emerges from his room, golden and sparkling, only to be greeted by the sight of Mac, laying on the couch, eating pork rinds out of a bag, crumbs from various junk foods scattered across his stomach, dirty combat boots on the armrest, and the tv loud enough to be heard from outer space. Why the FUCK is he still living with this disgusting human being? it’s not like he pays rent, it’s not like he contributes anything to this damn house. And then Mac looks up, and his eyes light up like he’s just seen the Virgin Mary appear in his living room. Like he’s in the presence of God. And Dennis remembers why. </p><p>......</p><p>Dennis is thankful for being a man. He remembers this as he goes through the motions of his first real date after getting out of the handsome companion business. He doesn’t think he would be able to pretend to laugh at someone else’s jokes, listen to their boring stories, order their awful suggestions at restaurants unless he was getting paid. Luckily for his date, Dennis’ jokes are sophisticated and funny, his stories are fascinating, and his suggestions are exquisite, because he has such a refined palate. He does have to let the woman talk a little too, but it’s easy if he just waits for the pauses in her droning and smiles and nods. </p><p>She won’t go to his place, but she does invite him over. Dennis is working out a system for this. Dennis has systems for every aspect of his life. He’s proud of that. But until he’s done, her apartment will have to do. He prefers the advantage of home base. They’re too secure when they can kick you out at any moment. They might have roommates, back up if (when) things get ugly. They feel too safe. Plus, he can’t film them, and if Mac doesn’t see it, does it really count? </p><p>You see, Mac needs to be reminded, at frequent intervals, who’s the alpha and who’s the beta in this relationship. He’s too upity, too willful (Charlie’s like an omega or something, so he doesn’t matter). The best way to remind Mac of his place in the natural hierarchy of their little group, is reminding him that Dennis gets all the females, like the dominant lion in a pride. What does it matter if Mac doesn’t actually want the females because he’s such a closet case. What matters is that Mac WANTS to want the females. But he can’t have them, because Dennis reigns supreme. </p><p>.......</p><p>“You’re soft dude”</p><p>“Haha no, I’m so hard for you baby”</p><p>“Ow! Stop trying to cram it in! You’re soft! Come here, maybe I can help”</p><p>“Baby you’re so hot”</p><p>“This isn’t working, why don’t we call it a night ok?”</p><p>“HOW DARE YOU INSINUATE THAT I HAVE TROUBLE GETTING IT UP?! IF ANYTHING, IT’S BECAUSE YOU’RE SUCH A DISGUSTING FAT COW!!”</p><p>“I want you out of my house. NOW!”</p><p>......</p><p>Another secret Dennis keeps locked up in his chest: Dennis doesn’t really like the sex that much. It’s not that he DISLIKES sex, it’s that he doesn’t put this much effort into trapping women just because of the physical need for pleasure. Like what IS that? He could just stay in and jerk off. He could even have Mac jerk him off, he’s like one cleverly planned out conversation away from that anyways. </p><p>When prodded about it, Dennis will break and say that it’s about status. Not just Mac, show the whole world who the alpha is. The more desirable the woman, the better she reflects on Dennis. And so Dennis’ status soars, and he is consecrated as the better man among whomever may be in his presence, listening to the stories, looking at the pictures. Wishing they could be him. </p><p>If he goes one level deeper, Dennis will say he uses sex to fill his god-hole, to imbue his life with meaning. Fill the hole with sex. And alcohol, and drugs, body creams, money, and praise, admiration. Crack. Anything to feel whole, to feel like he imagines other people feel all the time, without having to work for it, just for being. Like the birds, and the trees, their place secure in the world, part of an all. Their existence justified by the mere act of existing. </p><p>And all of this is true, but if he goes one level deeper, just one tiny level, which by no means negates the others: there is the fact, known to Dennis, but only to him, and only at times (the worst times) that sex is the best way he knows to get somebody’s undivided attention. And attention is how he knows he exists. </p><p>Dennis understands this is pathetic. And so, it will never be said out loud. </p><p>......</p><p>Dennis is at The Rainbow. He doesn’t PREFER men, by any means, but they do have an advantage. They’re easy. Dennis can just go in, makeup half melted off, shirt crumpled and sloppy drunk, wink a few times, slink into the bathroom slower than necessary, and have three men on his dick. All with the same effort it takes him to conquer not even one tenth of a woman. </p><p>Dennis is on his knees. It seems he always comes back to this. One, two, three, four. Dennis can satisfy any motherfucker that gets in front of him. He is a god. He is handing out the fish and bread, or whatever gods rain benevolent on their worshipers. Something better. He is handing out blowjobs. And for that glorious moment, these men are allowed in the presence of his golden light. Lucky them. Lucky Dennis. Because he only exists if you’re looking straight at him.</p><p>Move past it.</p><p>Why does Dennis get kicked out? Is it the blowjobs? Is it the drugs? Is it the drunken hollering? He isn’t sure how any of those are reasons to be thrown out of this god forsaken dump. Maybe he threw himself out? His hair is a mess, his makeup melted completely off, cum staining his shirt and drying on his hair, clothes in disarray. He zig zags down the same streets he’s zigzagged with Mac so many times, and he feels a deep sadness. The sudden feeling of being completely alone. Of not having anyone to care for him. </p><p>He could get stabbed right now, bleed out in the gutter, and nobody would give a shit.</p><p>Sadness? It’s anger. Rage at Mac for being such a coward. Being such a good catholic, a good son, a good “man”, only doing what men are supposed to do. Dennis never cared about such things. Dennis knows he is above labels, above human limitations and restrictions. How could he ever bow down to mortal rules and conventions? He is a god! And Mac is stupid. He’s worst than stupid, at least stupid people can be selfish. Mac is going to live his whole life denying himself, his needs, his wants, all for the love of two men who don’t love him back, who can’t, and won’t, ever even touch him. They’ll never need him. They don’t want him, they aren’t there. His father and God. One doesn’t exist, and the other shouldn’t. </p><p>And Dennis hates Mac for it. He hates him with a white hot rage. Coward. Coward because you’re not here with me now, zigzagging through the empty streets of Philadelphia. Coward because you’ve left me. </p><p>......</p><p>Dennis is laying in a heap outside of his apartment. He doesn’t know how he got here, and he doesn’t know why he’s not going in (it’s because Mac can’t see him, can’t see him like this. Shut up). </p><p>......</p><p>He wakes up because someone is fumbling with his limbs. He feels an arm behind his knees and Mac’s distinct smell, cursing under his breath as he manages to pick him up (like a baby) and carry him to his bed, where he sets him down gently, and with great effort. Now his shoes are being pulled off, and suddenly Dennis is reminded of his nanny Josefina, all those years ago (centuries), picking him up when he’d fall asleep in front of the tv and carrying him to bed. Sometimes Dennis would pretend to fall asleep -he always was a good actor- just to feel Josefina’s soft and ample arms around him. She’d cradle him just a little bit longer than necessary, and whisper. She’d say “I got you baby”, and she’d say “I’m so sorry baby” and Dennis never got to find out what she was sorry FOR, but the content of her words didn’t matter, because all<br/>
that was left in Dennis’ heart, cushioning and protecting it, was the sweetness in her tone. The warm domesticity, not wanting anything, not expecting reply or validation. Just one person soothing another, with the only thing at her disposal. Words. Just because they’re both human, and this is what humans do. Reach out to one another, hearts open, no hidden agenda or shady intentions. Only just because. </p><p>And just like that, Dennis is crying. At first softly, but each sob births a deeper sob, like a snowball rolling down a mountain, and soon he’s doubling over in pain, face distorted and wet, crying for everything that’s happened between then and now. Crying for little baby Dennis, carried to bed by Josefina in his footsie pajamas. A Dennis who had never hurt anybody, had never broken anybody, not even himself. He cried for all the people he hurt. He cried for Dee, and Mac. And he cried for what he was, and what he could have been. He cried for little baby Dennis’ soiled and discarded future. For his little soiled and discarded heart. </p><p>He couldn’t see Mac, but he felt when he sat down and put his arm around him. He felt him gently stroke his back, his hair</p><p>“Sh sh sh sh”</p><p>Of course, Mac doesn’t know what to say, what he SHOULD say, what he could say. Mac only knew what Mac knew, which was to sit and hold him, a warm, solid presence by his side, so Dennis doesn’t fall. So Dennis can grasp at something, can hold on, desperately, by the tips of his fingers, and not fall into the depths of his god-hole, where the dark is endless and Dennis is no more. Where there is only Dennis. </p><p>......</p><p>The sobbing finally begins to subside, and Dennis is numb. He can’t feel his face, or his hands, his whole body feels heavy and foreign. Mac carefully, keeping a hand on his back, leans him into a laying position. He unbuckles his belt, undoes his jeans, and carefully, no, fervently, as if Dennis was one of the statues in his church, Jesus Christ, Saint Sebastian, pulls them off. He pulls the covers back up, but he doesn’t leave. He sits at the edge of the bed, gently stroking his hair, and humming the same songs he did when they were nineteen, in Dennis’ dirty dorm room. </p><p>When he thinks Dennis is asleep, he leans in and plants a chaste kiss on his forehead.</p><p>“I love you”</p><p>......</p><p>Dennis is woken by a ray of sunlight shining right into his eyes through the window behind him. Mac is laying by his side, over the covers and fully dressed, mouth wide open and snoring like a goddamn hippopotamus. Why is Mac sleeping in his bed? </p><p>Then he remembers.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>A deep shame courses through his whole body. Dennis, full of frantic energy, springs up from the bed and locks himself in the bathroom. There he strips off his clothes (my pants? Where are my fucking pants?! Oh God right) and gets into the shower. Not waiting for it to warm up. </p><p>When he comes out, he is clean, exfoliated and moisturized. Hair damp from his five step shampoo and conditioning regime, cleanly shaven, made up to the gods. </p><p>“Mac. MAC”</p><p>And with a swift kick to his side, Mac is sitting up, startled and alert, his hands in a ridiculous karate pose. </p><p>“Why the FUCK are you sleeping in my bed dude?!”</p><p>“Uh you... you um”</p><p>“Never mind I don’t give a shit. GET OUT!” </p><p>The look on Mac’s face is enough to break your heart. But Dennis’ heart doesn’t break, because it broke twenty years ago, and now it’s been replaced with a big, gaping hole. He clenches his fists as Mac scampers out and closes the door behind him. </p><p>How dare he. </p><p>How dare they. </p><p>Savages.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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